


The Domestic

by bloodontheground



Category: Sebastian Stan - Fandom
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-11
Updated: 2016-06-17
Packaged: 2018-07-14 08:53:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7164119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloodontheground/pseuds/bloodontheground
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Joana's not the kind of woman who takes things lying down. With a bulletproof guard up to keep anyone from hurting her, she powers her way through life with sarcasm, dry wit, and the occasional smirk. But all walls eventually crumble, and as her past threatens to catch up to her, Joana finds support in the place she least expected it; her boss, Sebastian Stan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fucking Ninja

**Author's Note:**

> This one's been rolling around in my head for a while, ever since I watched Flashbacks of a Fool. Add to that a day of trying to clean and being constantly distracted by Sebastian in one form or another, and well...
> 
> A huge thanks to just-call-me-mrs-captain for giving me the push I needed to write it!

 

The first thing Sebastian noticed about Joana was her tattoos. Dotted in different places, new ones showed up whenever she bent, stretched, or leaned a certain way. All well taken care of, and all black and grey, they were thoroughly old-school, and fit her to a T. The second thing he noticed was that she was literally three different colors, depending on which limb he was looking at. Her left arm was a toasted caramel, her right a medium beige, and both legs an alabaster. It confused him, especially in a city which, like L.A., prided itself on appearance, even if that appearance was far from the polished glam of Hollywood. He dared not ask, lest the reason be something less than funny, but it always gave him pause, especially first thing in the morning.

The first thing Joana noticed about Sebastian was that his hair was fucking better than hers. 

 

____________________

 

“Morning!” Sebastian greeted Joana jovially as he padded into the kitchen, wearing black shorts and a navy t-shirt, his socks making him silent until he opened his mouth. 

“Jesus! Make some fucking noise! Thump a wall or something, Stan! Your breakfast almost ended up on the ceiling!” She hissed, turning and glaring at him with the fury of a woman who'd just had a minor heart attack. For his part, Seb could only give her an impish grin, chuckling a little to himself as he made his way to the fridge, pulled out the orange juice—freshly-squeezed the night before—and poured himself a glass. 

“Sorry. It's the socks,” he reasoned, lifting up one foot to show her the black ankle socks that would nearly disappear under his trainers every time he left for his 5am workouts. 

“You're lucky I'm not a klutz,” Joana muttered, shaking her head as she plated his breakfast, a Paleo fanatic's wet dream; eggs, sweet potato hash, broccoli, and bacon. It was all in keeping with his nutritionist's strict instructions, but because Joana had never seen a stupid rule she didn't feel compelled to break, she'd livened things up a bit by adding spices and the tiniest bit of salsa. Pouring his coffee, she took everything to the bar where he was already sitting, scrolling through his phone. 

“Bon apetit, you fucking ninja,” she murmured, a small smirk crossing her features, Joana watching out of her peripheral as he dug in, her smile growing to the point where she had to press her lips together as she watched the look of almost-euphoric satisfaction cross his face. She was a good cook and she knew it, and Joana couldn't help but think that was one of the reasons she was still here. 

“Joana, honestly, you gotta stop doing this,” Sebastian called out after he'd swallowed his first bite, causing her to turn and look at him, perplexed and a little anxious. “How the hell is anyone else supposed to compete with this? Perfection!” Realizing he was complimenting her food, Joana simply grinned, nodding her thanks before turning back to wash the things she'd used to cook with. 

She never ate breakfast with her boss, mainly because she wasn't one for needlessly torturing the guy when it was clear he was prepping for a role, but also because she didn't like anyone, regardless of how nice they were, to watch her eat. It wasn't that she had a complex or an eating disorder, but Joana didn't eat like most girls. When she ate, it was to fuel her body for the next few hours, so portions were always slightly bigger than the average, carbs were just as important as protein, and she tended to scarf it all down in a decidedly un-ladlylike hurry, mainly because there weren't enough hours in the day. So until Sebastian disappeared to the back of the apartment to have his shower, Joana focused on what she liked to call, 'busy work'. 

First, she finished washing up, preferring to do things by hand as it was faster than waiting for the dishwasher to be full enough to run. A quick wipe of the counters and the stove came next, and finally, she did a quick stock check, writing a list of things she had to pick up at the market when she left to run her errands for the day. It was a perfectly-timed dance, and less than a minute after he was gone, she was digging into a breakfast sandwich she'd made the night before, heated in the microwave and eaten over the sink to minimize any mess. Not one to waste good coffee, she poured what remained in the carafe into a small juice glass and added a half-teaspoon of sugar before downing it like a shot. It was the caffeine, not the taste, she was after, and it did the trick as she felt herself perk up almost instantly. 

With a quick wash of her hands, she all but dashed into his bedroom, doing her usual mid-shower routine of picking up his gym clothes, throwing them in the hamper for later, turning on the bathroom fan (which he ALWAYS forgot to do), and laying out his outfit for the day, depending on what his manager had on the calendar. Though it was the beginning of a break for him while he prepared for the next movie, he still had media appearances to finish off for the last film, and today was no exception. Pulling the garment bag out of his walk-in closet, she laid it carefully on the bed, unzipping it not just to get a peek at what he'd be wearing, but also to make sure, one last time, that it was all there. Joana was nothing if not efficient, and she'd more than once been able to catch a mistake before it became a problem in the four months she'd been working for Sebastian. Today's outfit was thankfully intact, and she couldn't help the appreciative smile as she saw that it was beautifully styled as well. His shoes were given one last quick polish as she heard the shower shut off, the pair set at the foot of the bed directly below the garment bag so there was no guess work. With only a few seconds left, she closed his bedroom door quietly, disappearing just in time for him to make his way back into the room from the en-suite. 

Any big cleaning jobs she always saved for when he wasn't home, but dusting was quicker to get out of the way while he was getting ready, so as he dressed, Joana gave the living room a wipe down, being careful with the sentimental items, especially the photographs he'd recently gotten framed; Pictures of his mother and him when he was younger, still living in Romania or Vienna. Pictures she knew all too well the value of, having only a handful of them from her own childhood. Satisfied that everything looked refreshed, she then headed for the entryway, organizing the items he'd need to take with him on this particular outing. Wallet, keys, phone, sunglasses, and a contract he needed to return to his manager as soon as he met up with her, were all placed on the entrance table, ready to grab as he walked out the door. Joana gave his phone's screen a quick clean with her t-shirt as a last-minute adjustment, pointedly ignoring the notifications that popped up in the process. It wasn't her job to mind his personal life in _that_ way, and she did her best to stay out of that area of his life as much as possible. 

“Hey, can you--” She turned as he spoke, Sebastian motioning to his collar, which was still popped up. While he could tie a tie as well as any Wall Street stockbroker, Sebastian was notorious for folding his collar crooked. Rolling her eyes playfully at him, she came over and stood on her tiptoes to reach up to his neck. “One of these days, Stan, I'm gonna teach you how to fold a collar, and then you won't need me for shit,” she joked, not missing the scent of his cologne as she checked to make sure the back was down flat and under his jacket. Pulling away, she smiled as he did a little turn for her, Joana stopping him mid-way to fix a button on the back of one of the sleeves that had somehow come undone. 

“There. Now off with ye my son, to say too much in yet another interview.” Joana pretended to bless him before stepping aside, smiling to herself as he roared with laughter at the mock benediction. 

“I'll bring you back a Happy Meal,” Sebastian grinned, laughing when he caught her deadpan expression. 

“Get the fuck out,” she said, only half-kidding in her annoyance, Joana having _never_ wanted to catch wind of what he'd said on the now-infamous podcast where he'd rivaled his cast-mate in the category of TMI. But, like any member of his team worth their weight in salt, she'd learned the nature of a variety of his firsts which now plagued her thoughts at the most inopportune moments. It wasn't a secret her boss was gorgeous, but it was times like this, times where their relationship teetered on the high-wire between professional and personal, that she felt her stomach binding in knots. It was impossible not to be attracted to him; it was unbelievably hard, at times like this, to keep herself from doing anything about it. 

Watching out the window as his chauffeured car pulled away from the curb, Joana turned to the stereo she only dared touch when he was gone and docked her phone, turning it up just loud enough to be heard through the whole place without disturbing any of his neighbors. The last thing she wanted was to get him a noise complaint especially in the building he lived in, which had a number of high-profile residents. Pulling her dark curls up into a messy top knot, she let the music set the rhythm for her next few hours and danced all the way to the washing closet to get the vacuum and get to work. 

The next two hours were spent dusting, sweeping, and vacuuming, Joana starting at the front of the apartment and working her way back to where his bedroom was. There, she took a little extra care. His bed was made with fresh linens, the windows were cleaned (a once a month thing given his penchant for leaving them open for fresh air), and all his decorative items—from the artwork hanging on the walls to lamps that framed his king-sized bed—were dusted and cleaned if needed. Finally, she lit one of the many 'mandles' she kept hidden in her room and let it burn down a bit on his bedside table, making sure to place it opposite of where he usually slept so that the scent wouldn't overwhelm him at night; Half an hour tops while she swept, dusted, and vacuumed his bathroom. Putting the tightly-sealed lid back on it, she walked it back to her bedroom and only then blew it out completely, letting the remnants of the scent fill her small space. 

Her last bit of true cleaning before leaving to run errands was always the bathroom, and it was also the one that tended to make her work up a sweat. Her boss' gym routine, unlike her own brand of exercise-by-employment, meant he tracked in all the gross shit other gym-goers and employees alike failed to clean when they wiped down the machines. She'd made the mistake once, and only once, of letting his bathroom go uncleaned for a week during her first month of employment, and the amount of work it took to get the place back into shape still kept her up at night. Now she cleaned it to military specs every other day, unwilling to see so much as a spot of soap grime anywhere near the sleek surfaces of the luxe bathroom. 

An hour later, with the place gleaming, she padded into her room and set her own outfit out on the bed, yawning as she made her way to her bathroom to shower and look presentable to the outside world. It was one thing to wear shorts and a t-shirt at home, but it was a whole different matter when errands usually involved picking up things at stores she couldn't even afford to _walk into_ without his name backing her up. No, errands required her to be put together, both modern and professional, and far removed from her own personal style. She never forgot who she worked for, nor how one misstep could cost her the best job she'd had in years. Sebastian was great, but he wasn't the only one she answered to, and if any of his handlers caught her looking anything less than polished out in public, there'd be hell to pay.

Slipping on her shoes, she ready to go in record time, the smell of a clean house wafting behind her as she shut and locked the door.

 

_____________________

 

It was nearing on four when Joana made it back to the apartment, and she knew she was running against the clock again. Rushing in, she let Sebastian's doorman, Frank, haul in the groceries, grateful for the older man's help when she needed an extra hand. Changing back into her usual uniform of black shorts and a white t-shirt that hung off her shoulders a bit, she thanked Frank as he closed the door and then set to work once more. Groceries were put away, food was taken out of the fridge in preparation for making dinner, and Sebastian's laundry was sorted and dumped into the washer, Joana setting the cycle with careful consideration to what was in there, before heading back to the kitchen to start cooking. 

Hair tied back once more so as to not get any in his meal, Joana popped her headphones in, dancing around the kitchen as she worked. Within moments, she was in her zone, cooking up a storm and prepping sides for tomorrow's meals at the same time. The buzzer on the washer was the only thing that cut through her music, and with sliding sprints across the hardwood floors, she switched over the loads, putting in his whites and setting his darks in the dryer. 

Consumed by her work and with dancing to each consecutive song on her playlist, Joana didn't hear Sebastian come in, her boss moving as silently as he had in the morning. The beat of the song was too good to pass up, so as she tossed veggies in the wok for his dinner, Joana found herself doing a little shuffle, hips swaying and snapping in time to the loud drums that were the heartbeat of the song. Eyes closed briefly, she remembered days where she'd dance in a very different kitchen, always joined by her father, the two the picture of perfect rhythm. Joana's heart clenched a little and she stopped dancing as the song came to an end. 

“Smells good in here, what's for dinner?” His voice, combined with her turning to find him standing at the bar, made Joana jump a mile out of her socks again. This time, there was no laughing on Sebastian's part, but instead true confusion and concern. 

“Sorry. I know, make noise. What's with you today? You're jumpier than normal,” Sebastian spoke quickly, one hand held palm up as he questioned her. 

The truth was she was _always_ jumpy, always looking over her shoulder, but Sebastian could never know why. It was a secret she kept even from her closest friends, the ones she normally shared everything with. Joana was certain that if anyone knew, she'd either become a social pariah, or the pity people would give her would drown her completely. Instead, she put up a front of strength and sarcasm, unwilling to look weak in front of anyone, _especially_ Sebastian. 

“I'm jumpier than normal because, noise-canceling headphones, Stan. Sit. Dinner's on. You can change later, it's going back to Gucci in the morning anyhow,” Joana finally replied, her tone still dry and to the point, something which never failed to make her boss smile. 

She hoped his smile would carry her through sleep; tonight, she was gonna need it.


	2. Flight or Flight

“Why is it that you feel the need to get hammered every weekend, Jo? Honestly, I stopped doing that shit in college, like, junior year.”

“Because it's my money, my booze, and quite frankly, my only day off to do whatever the hell I want. Why are you busting my balls about this?” Joana looked over at her best friend Danielle and shot her a squinting glare, her head jerking to one side, then the other, silently asking the other woman, 'wtf?'.

“Listen, I just worry is all. If you wanna get hammered, get hammered. Is he _that_ much of an asshole?”

“He's not an asshole at all. He's actually one of the sweetest guys you'll ever meet, and I will fight anyone who says otherwise. It's not him, it's not the job. I just...I like booze.” This time, Joana shot her a syrupy-sweet smile that was dripping in sarcasm. Danielle merely snorted, rolling her eyes.

“You like booze about as much as you like wearing a skirt, so don't come at me with that bullshit. There's something there, something you're hiding away, and if you wanna keep hiding it, fine. But if not, I'd rather you let it out than drown it with Jack Daniels.”

“It's Sailor Jerry's, get it together.”

“Who still drinks _rum_ at 31?”

“Who still gets neon fuchsia manicures at 32?” This time, it was Danielle that shot Joana a look, pairing it with a middle finger.

“Love you, Ice Queen”

“Love you too, Barbie Princess.”

Joana smiled genuinely for the first time since waking, her best friend's affection enough to break through the blur of alcohol which had come hot on the heels of the gray storm cloud that followed her around every time she was left with too much time to think. The fact that it was the anniversary did little to stem her sour mood, but she wasn't one to ignore Danielle's invitation to lunch and a pedicure, so despite being wasted before noon, she'd hopped in a cab and made her way to midtown, finding a little bit of solace in the relative silence of the salon.

Sundays were her only days off, as Saturdays tended to be considered a workday in NYC, no matter what the profession. Usually, she spent her day drinking alone in her room, trying her best to shut out both the outside world and the mini explosions of panic and anxiety that came with her brain's over-thinking of every little thing. This particular Sunday had started par for the course, but Danielle was nothing if not persistent, and after a good long look at her toes—which would be exposed far more often now that it was summer—Joana had downed another shot and stumbled around until she was dressed. Peeking out of her room to make sure the coast was clear, she made a zig-zagging dash for the front door, completely unaware that Sebastian was sitting on the couch, reading a script and drinking coffee. Slipping into flip flops, she nearly threw her purse at the door as she tried to swing it over her head and across her body, but after a second try, Joana was out the door.

She was far more sober than she liked to be by the time she was slipping back through the door at 2pm, toes freshly painted a shade close to Chianti and hands topped with a coat of clear; manicures were the luxury of people who weren't on a first-name basis with a can of Bar Keeper's Friend. With her back to the apartment as she locked the door, Sebastian's smooth voice came as a shock. She'd figured on him being out with friends on a sunny day like today, and was hoping to get a little over-time in with meal prepping for Monday.

“How was the spa day?”

“Huh?”

“You only ever wear flip flops when you're going to get your nails done,” he noted with a grin, pointing at the sandals she now had in hand, Joana letting out a breath of realization, her smile matching his.

“It was good. Hung out with my walking Barbie doll of a friend, Danielle. Caught up on things, had lunch, the usual. You need anything?” She asked, her tone gentle as she asked Sebastian her usual midday question.

“Nah, just wondering if Danielle drinks before noon too,” he winked, the tease gentle, though Joana didn't miss the concern behind it.

“No, see, Danielle's perfect. She has a husband who's filthy rich, a kid who somehow is always clean despite being five, and a yippy Pomeranian I'd like to kick down a hallway or twelve. So no, she stopped drinking—funny that you mention it—in college, junior year to be precise. Found _that_ out today. Add it to the list of reasons people think I'm her nanny!” Joana explained as she made her way to her bedroom, unaware that Sebastian was following after. Her flip-flop-laden hand went up in the air as she called out the last part, her smile devolving into an expression of pure misery once she thought she couldn't be seen.

“Yeah, well, maybe Danielle doesn't drink because she doesn't spend her nights screaming bloody murder.”

Joana stopped dead in her tracks, frozen as the words sunk in. Shit. Swallowing against the panic that threatened to drown her in an instant, she wondered exactly what she'd said, and how much she'd given away while unconscious. Turning, she fixed her boss with a smile that didn't meet her eyes, Joana not realizing how pale she'd gone.

“Yeah, well, I learned my lesson. No more Rob Zombie movies before bed.” Her smile faltered when she made the mistake of searching Sebastian's cerulean gaze for signs that he was buying her story. Instead, she found pity, genuine concern, and more confusion than a Black Friday clearance sale.

“Who's Carlos?” Sebastian asked, Joana's stomach churning just hearing the name. Holding up her hand, she ran for her bathroom, managing only to hold the door closed with an extended foot as lunch came back up along the remnants of her liquid breakfast.

When it was clear her body had nothing left to get rid of, she sat back on her heels, took a few deep breaths, stood, and brushed her teeth. A splash of cold water to hide the tears that had coursed down her cheeks, and she was once more Joana, Sebastian's dutiful live-in with no history, no emotions other than sarcasm, and certainly no tale of woe. None of that changed the fact that there was still the slight problem of her boss standing in her bedroom, waiting for her to come out. She had to give him _something_ to quell his curiosity. With a deep breath to center herself, Joana opened the door.

“Sorry, Jerry's not exactly playing nice today. Usually he just makes my Coke taste like sweet, fizzy, vanilla dreams. Today he's angry. As for who Carlos is, suffice it to say he's an asshole, has always been an asshole, and will always be an asshole. Aaaaand drop it.” Managing one more smile, she was about to take Seb by the shoulders and lead him out of her room, when a dark spot out of the corner of her eye caught her attention. It took only a few seconds for Joana to recognize the man that stood across the street, pretending to be talking on his cell phone. Tears immediately filled her eyes, but in her stubbornness she refused to let them fall, slipping past Sebastian instead, not giving him any explanation. Soon, she'd be packing up her life again, heading to the next town, the next job, all of which wouldn't hold a candle to how good she now had it.

Taking the stairs down, Joana slipped on her sunglasses as she made her way across the street, tugging the man on the phone into the laundromat so they wouldn't be seen. Blessedly empty, it offered both discretion and a place to speak freely.

“Out with it.”

“He's out. We have to move you.”

“How long do I have?”

“72 hours, max. I'm sorry, sweet pea.”

“I'm 31 years old, Max. I'm nobody's sweet pea any more, got it? Go. I'll be in touch in 48.” She said through gritted teeth, never meaning to be angry with Max, but not knowing any other way to respond the the only type of news he ever brought.

Poof. Gone. Just like that, her nice job, her nice boss, her nice little bedroom in a penthouse suite would all be gone. Biting the inside of her cheek hard enough to bleed, Joana managed to keep her composure as she crossed through the lobby of Sebastian's building, nodding at the doorman in greeting.

Once back inside, she remained silent, knowing full well that one word would be all it took for her to lose it completely. Turning around to find him standing in the living room, she wasn't surprised the second time, Joana managing to take one last look at her boss, wishing for all the world that she'd been braver. He was beautiful, inside and out, and she'd miss him more than he'd probably ever know.

Breezing past him, she wasn't prepared for his hand to take her shoulder, stopping her in her beeline for the bedroom, Joana's eyes flashing with quick panic.

“Stop. Talk to me. You look like you've seen a ghost! Whatever it is, we can figure it out. Don't go running for the bottle, Jo. You're not gonna find any answers there. Jesus, you're freezing. What is going on?”

His hug was like a car crash, jolting her out of her shock for a moment, allowing her body to react with natural fear to the news she'd just been given. The trembling she'd been experiencing most of the morning turned into violent shaking, and her body temperature dropped a few more degrees. Tears stung her eyes as she fought to give him the only information she could manage in her mourning for what was, a _decent_ life.

“Sebastian. You've gotta let me go. I'm sorry.”

 


	3. Countertops & Confessions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all who've been reading the story! I appreciate all the kudos, comments, and hits more than you'll ever know!

_4 months earlier..._

 

He'd been through no less than six live-ins since moving to his new apartment. Young, old, experienced, novice. It didn't matter. Without fail, they'd all been sacked in less than a month for one reason or another. One he caught sleeping on his bed instead of her own, one decided he was too unorganized and began rearranging things to the point where he was nearly late for an important meeting, one couldn't cook to save her life (a prerequisite of the job), and the others failed in tasks so basic he couldn't believe they'd managed to make it through life as long as they had.

Sebastian had all but given up on the idea of having someone there to look after his place when he was working, and had canceled all but one interview because he was fed up with the growing number of questions he now had to ask. His manager had refused to let him give up however, so the last interview went forward as planned.

The woman that came to the door was nothing like he'd expected. On paper, she was perfect, her references gleaming, her work history immaculate. In person, it was a totally different story. Sebastian could tell immediately that Joana would be different, if only because she showed up for her interview wearing black, skintight jeans, a a black tank top, and all-white sneakers. Her purse, unlike those of her predecessors, was tiny by comparison; big enough for a wallet, phone, keys, and sunglasses. Her hair wasn't tied back in a severe bun as he'd been so used to seeing, but instead fell around her shoulders in messy onyx curls that came nearly past her armpits. Her eyes were cognac and her lips a dusty rose he swore were their natural color. She smelled faintly of cigarettes, violet, sandlewood, and vanilla, a curiously alluring combination that had him stepping closer before he even realized it, his hand extended.

“You must be Joana. I'm Sebastian. It's great to finally meet you,” he introduced himself, knowing full well they'd had to reschedule more than once on account of his job.

“Nice to meet you too, Sebastian.” She replied, her smile brightening a face that otherwise leaned towards stern, Sebastian glad that she wasn't as put off by being there as her initial expression had led him to believe.

“So I'm sure my manager explained most of what you'd be doing, but basically, as far as I see it, you've got an occasional roommate who stops in a few times a month, sometimes stays longer, and is usually too exhausted to do much of anything productive.” Sebastian tried the joke just as he'd done with all the previous applicants, knowing he'd get a good reading on Joana's general personality not only from her response, but her reaction as well.

“Hey, as long as you don't come home drunk, piss in my bed, and puke in my panty drawer, we're good.”

Sebastian couldn't stop the bark of laughter if he'd wanted to. It was the last response he'd ever expected, but one that immediately endeared Joana to him.

“What? It's happened, believe me. I had to wash everything _twice_ just to get the stench out. Made them pay for a new mattress too. Don't ever room with party girls. You'll regret it the second the ink's dry on the lease.”

“Duly noted,” he chuckled, Sebastian still sobering from his initial burst of laughter.

Stepping into the main space of the apartment, he let her get a feel for the place, Sebastian watching Joana as she took note of the layout, and of how clean or messy certain areas were.

“Who's doing your upkeep now?” Joana asked, surprising Sebastian, as not a single one of the women that had come before her had even bothered asking. Lifting up his hand, he pointed at himself, pleased when she looked suitably impressed.

“Not bad, all things considered. I understand you wanting someone when you're gone though. Dust gathers, food goes bad, mail piles up, all that shit. Given all the traveling, I'm sure being home's not much better though, huh? If I traveled that much, I'd spend my time at home face down in bed, in a coma,” Joana winked as she made her way into the kitchen, one unmanicured hand sliding over the marble counter tops, before she looked over her shoulder at him.

“Mind if I try something real quick? I won't wreck your shit, I promise. It's just that I might have to buy a foot stool if I can't swing this,” she explained, Sebastian watching in curiosity as she lifted herself up onto a counter and then stood, bouncing a bit on her feet. Opening the cupboard to her right, she smiled back at him triumphantly. “Nope, won't need a foot stool,” she grinned, her face suddenly paling as she took in his shocked expression, “unless you don't want me getting up on the counters.”

“I'm more worried about how you're gonna get down without breaking your ankles,” Sebastian replied after a moment, smirking almost as though he were issuing her a challenge. Joana just gave him an unimpressed look before jumping down, landing lightly on her toes.

“One thing you'll learn about us shorties as that we're really, _really_ good at climbing.” This time it was Joana who smirked, shooting him a wink as she reached back and closed the cupboard smoothly.

“Where's your supply closet? Don't think for a second I jump up onto a counter without cleaning it off after,” she explained, wanting a simple disinfectant spray and a paper towel so she could kill any of the street germs she'd tracked in with her shoes.

“Right there,” he pointed, moving to sit at the bar as he watched her work her way around the walk-in, Joana looking for all the world like she was making mental notes about where everything was.

“Right. So, any quirks, details, things your manager doesn't know about that I should, given that there'll be times we're in the same space for 24 hours together? Hookers, coke, pills, jealous girlfriends who like throwing punches...Anything?” Despite the outrageous nature of her words, Joana asked her necessary questions casually, spraying down Sebastian's counter before giving it a hard scrub, her movements belying the power hidden beneath otherwise-unremarkable arms.

“Single. Not a fan of hookers or blow. No pills unless I'm prescribed them by someone in an ER. I sleep with music or podcasts on, always. I smoke occasionally, but waaay less than I did in my 20's. My nutritionist's kind of an asshole, so you will have to do some juggling if I'm working on a project. If the office door's closed, it's 'cause I'm in a meeting, but that's a given,” he took a deep breath, trying to think of anything else, “Oh, and I hate flying, so if I'm coming home...”

“Best to steer clear until you come to me. Got it,” she nodded, tossing the well-worn paper towel into the trash before putting the spray back where she found it, Joana moving to sit next to him at the bar.

“I sleep with headphones on, so I get the whole music thing. Can't sleep in silence, my brain goes into overdrive. Also single, so you don't have to worry about some bro-dude coming in here fucking up your moneymaker. I'm not into parties, no into shopping sprees, none of that shit. I do like to have a drink or six on my day off, usually in my own space, usually alone—don't get all judgey on me—never enough to black out or do my best impression of Pollock. I only need one day off a week, and when I say off, I mean off completely. No calling me in for this or that, you're on your own that day. I don't exist. I don't care what day you designate, and as long as I get suitable notice, you can shift it to suit your schedule. I just need some time off every now and again. I don't do vacations, so you don't have to worry about me taking off to Aruba for two weeks, leaving you high and dry. I don't have kids, or pets, obviously, or I wouldn't be here. Aaaand you're not allowed to judge my taste in literature. Got it?”

“I don't have a Red Room of Pain, and I don't sparkle, but if those are deal breakers...” Sebastian teased, doing his best to keep his face neutral even as he got a playful glare from Joana.

“I'd rather listen to Tiny Tim on repeat for a month than have those on my shelf. I'm not _that_ bad, okay? I just...I like bargain bin, okay? The ones from the 70's with the really weird covers of half-naked ladies fainting in Satan's lap and shit. They're amusing. I have decent books too, I promise.” He was silent for a moment, gazing at her with nothing but amusement, finding her absolutely refreshing after his previous tries at securing a live-in. His mind and heart, usually warring factions when it came to important decisions, were in total agreement, and after a split-second, he'd made his decision.

“You're hired. I'm glad I didn't cancel. Really glad.” Sebastian grinned, excited for the first time about having a new live-in. One that might finally work out for longer than a month.

“Awesome. When do I start?”

 

________________________

 

In the four months he'd known her, Sebastian had  _never_ seen Joana as terrified as she'd been once she'd come back upstairs. She was one of the toughest women he knew.; never bit her tongue if it meant lying about her opinion, never backed down from a justified argument. She had a punching bag in her room, and owned more war movies than he'd even known existed. She was the epitome of low-drama, casual cool in his book, and to have her shaking, frozen, and rooted to her spot as he hugged her was such a jarring contradiction that it sent a panic through  _him_ .

“I'm not letting you go until you talk to me. Where'd you go downstairs? What happened? Joana, I can't help you sort this out if you don't talk to me.”

He was surprised and a little hurt when she pushed herself away from him with what little strength she had left, Joana's eyes wild as her gaze moved around the apartment, fixating back on him for just a moment before hitting the floor.

“There's nothing to sort out. You can't help me with this Sebastian. I won't let you. I just...I have to go. The less you know, the better. I'm sorry!”

Sebastian's heart broke for her as he watched her back away, every movement like those of a wounded animal trying to find its way back to its hovel to die.

“Joana, listen, whatever it is, I'm sure I can help, in some way, no matter how insignificant.”

Whatever he'd been expecting, it wasn't the venom she spat at him, her tear-filled eyes finally spilling over, Joana's face a mask of absolute grief.

“You know how you can, help, Seb? You can plan my fucking _funeral_ , 'cause that's what gonna happen if I don't get out of here as soon as possible! The less you know, the safer you'll be. Believe me, of all the people I've known in my life, you're the one that's going to hurt the most to leave, but I cannot put you in harm's way. I wouldn't be able to live with myself. So don't push your fucking luck, okay? Just...Go back to bed or something, and when you wake up, I'll be gone, and nothing more than a bad dream.”

It had been years since he'd felt distressed, but there, in that moment, listening to Joana talk about her own life as though it meant nothing, while his was put up on a pedestal, all of the alarm bells in his mind went off, Sebastian knowing he couldn't just let her leave, couldn't let her face whatever danger she was in, alone.

Making his way back to her room, he found her sobbing quietly as she packed her belongings, Sebastian realizing for the first time just how little she owned, as it all seemed to be fitting into one suitcase. Suddenly, pieces began to fall into place, and Sebastian went on a hunch as he put two and two together.

“Whoever you're running from...If you keep running, they're always going to have power over you. Are you gonna let them have that forever?” he asked softly, Sebastian catching her wrist as she went around the bed with more items, his eyes locking with hers for a few moments, pleading with her to listen.

“I'm not running from some psycho ex-boyfriend, or stalker husband, okay? I'm in witness protection. The man who's after me has been sitting in jail for a _very_ long time, and _I'm_ the one who put him there. So excuse me for running to save MY LIFE!” Her words grew angrier the more she spoke, and horror chilled Sebastian's heart as he watched her scream and cry the final two words, Joana losing her mind for the most valid reason he'd ever heard.

Sebastian watched as Joana's knees suddenly gave out, the stress, labored breathing, and panic overwhelming her body as she fell onto the bed, sobbing brokenly.

“He destroyed my life, so I returned the favor. Now, every year, like clock-work, he sends someone to try and get even. To take my life.”

 

 


End file.
